Faces

by Martina Cole

  ‘I better get home, Jonjo . . . See you tomorrow, eh?’

  Jonjo nodded, wondering at her calmness, knowing that if her mother was found guilty she would be looking at a lump and a half.

  ‘Good luck, mate.’

  Mary laughed sadly. ‘Good luck? What’s that when it’s at home?’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘My life is shit, son, and you know it. You’ve made sure of that. Me own husband afraid in his own home, I never thought I’d live to see the day.’

  Angelica Cadogan sounded for all the world like a woman hard-done-by, as if her husband was innocent of any charges that might be brought against him. Danny couldn’t believe his ears.

  ‘You fucked your own life up, Mum, then you fucked up ours.’

  ‘I gave my life to you children . . .’

  ‘Pull the other one, Mum, it plays “A Hard Day’s Night”. You never gave us fuck all, and you know it.’

  Danny Boy turned from his mother, refusing to listen to her ranting.

  ‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me, boy.’

  He sighed in annoyance, wanting to hurt her as she had hurt him, had hurt them all. ‘You’d serve us all up in a heartbeat if it got you an audience with your old man, and we all know it, Mum. We have lived with that knowledge for years. You only care about us when you’re alone in the world, when the old man goes on the trot. Once he’s back, you blank us again.’

  The truth hurt and Angelica knew that better than anyone. It was why she was getting so angry with this boy before her. Her first-born son, the lad who had kept it all together and made sure they were taken care of. Her guilt and shame made her lash out then, ‘You vicious little bastard ... ’

  Danny Boy held up his hand and said sadly, ‘Don’t do this, Mum. Please. He’s fucking scum, he always has been, and you know that better than I do. Don’t try and justify his behaviour, or your treatment of us because of it. Look, Mum, I’m fucking warning you, please don’t start me off on one. Not tonight.’ He was pointing his finger in her face, his anger was there for anyone to see, and she knew it was taking all the strength he possessed to pretend that he didn’t know what she wanted from him. It was a game they had played many times in the past. Only this time he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. They both knew he wasn’t going to play her game any more.

  She shook her head sadly, her eyes dark with pain and her tears now genuine. ‘Please, son, do this for me, eh? He’s my husband, your father . . .’

  She was almost begging once more, and they both knew it. For Danny it was enough to break him down, but only if he had been foolish enough to let her empty words have an effect. Instead, he had hardened himself to her pleas. He hated her for the fact that she saw this drama as even necessary, that she thought he was that soft she could still talk him round, even after all that had happened.

  ‘I’ve said he can stay. But I still hate him, Mum. Don’t make me start to hate you as well. He cares nothing for this family, stop trying to make him into something he ain’t. Something he can never be. Never was, for that matter.’

  His mother’s face was screwed up in temper, her voice loaded with malice. ‘He is a cripple, thanks to you. He has nothing any more. We’re all he’s got now, boy.’

  Danny Boy shook his head in consternation. That she was trying to garner some kind of sympathy for his father was too much, was going too far.

  ‘He might be a raspberry ripple, Mother, but no one cares about that, do they? If he had been left to his own devices the same thing could have befallen any one of us. He beat us all, you included and, if we’d been left a raspberry, he would not have given a flying fuck. But then you know that, don’t you, deep down in your fucking so-called heart. He could have crippled you or me in his heyday. Kicking and punching us, shouting the odds. He put his fag out on your face, I saw him do it. So bollocks to him, and bollocks to you and all.’

  He stepped towards her then and, for the first time, she felt in fear of him; he could almost smell it off of her. It didn’t make him feel bad, it just reaffirmed his belief that without him this family would have sunk without trace. This woman, his own mother, aggravated him nowadays: she just made him more aware of how base and how untrustworthy most women could be. She thought he was a live one, a fucking Greebo. Thought he was cunt enough to swallow her old crap and let that leech back into all their lives as if nothing untoward had happened. He, Danny Boy Cadogan, had taken on the mantle of man of the house, had taken over the bills, everything. He had been forced to. That they had never been so well-off in their lives was a bonus, yet she would still rather be at the mercy of that ponce, his so-called father, than be with her own kids. Be content with her children, her real family. She wanted the man who had destroyed them all in one way or another. It was a real eye-opener for him.

  And it hurt him to know his mother still felt the need of the man who had almost brought about the family’s downfall.

  All this aggro for a bunk-up, for a shag, because that was all that this could be about. His father had given them nothing all their lives except a harsh word or a good hiding. His mother, on the other hand, had spent her life trying to avoid all of that, had tried to protect everyone, herself included, from his drunken assaults. Now she was acting like they were a fucking perfect match, a love job. He had sacrificed his childhood for her, for his family, and she was asking him to forget the past, act like it had never happened. She was asking him to pretend they were all hunky-dory; it was a fucking diabolical liberty on her part.

  She was obviously missing him in some way. But how? She couldn’t be missing his silver tongue, that was for sure. Nor his fucking humungous wallet. They had only seen him when he was borassic lint, when he had spent his wages, had one bet too many. Pissed up and itching for a fight was when they finally got him. Then he would come home to them like the avenging angel of Christ. All fists and terror, bad-mouthing her, beating her up, then taking her to his bed with a threat and a punch, his kids left to listen to it all as they huddled under the covers waiting for him to start on them.

  This latest thing though was all about her, her needs. Was about her getting her fucking end away. Gnawing the bone. It was a disgrace as far as he was concerned. For the first time ever she had enough money, she didn’t have to scrub anyone’s house, didn’t have to kneel on anyone’s floor, and it still wasn’t enough for her. He couldn’t provide the main ingredient she needed. Heating, light, food, drink, a bit of bingo when she fancied it, was second rate, all she seemed to want was her old man back in her bed, no matter what he had done to her kids, or to her, for that matter. Women, he now realised, were not to be trusted. All his life his mother had run his father down to him, all his life he had heard nothing except how fucking useless he was and how he should never be like him.

  And he had listened to his mother for years; she was the fountain of all knowledge, especially where his father was concerned. Plus he had seen it with his own eyes. Seen what a useless cunt for a father he had been lumbered with. Consequently, none of them had any time for him, except their little sister, but she didn’t count. No one begrudged his love for her, that was expected, that was the only decent thing he had going for him as far as they were concerned.

  Now though, it seemed, if you listened to their mother, this father of his was on a par with the Second Coming. He was now more sinned against than sinner, a poor man who had been trying to fight the odds all his life. What fucking drainhole did she think her sons had climbed out of?

  He paid all the bills, something his father had been loath to do all his life. Ergo, as far as he could see, that meant that he now ran the whole fucking shebang. Just because his mother was once more a wife, it didn’t mean they had to jump on the bandwagon with her.

  A raspberry ripple, a fucking cripple, and that was all thanks to him. She only had her husband home with her because he couldn’t go anywhere else, even if he wanted to. But that didn’t mean they had to fucking kowtow to him. They had long me
mories; even if she chose to rewrite history, it didn’t mean they had to. He would use the old coot, but if she thought they were going to start playing happy families she could think again. He had to make that plain to her, make her see that she was getting the old man back, but it didn’t mean that he was once more the dog’s gonads. ‘I’ve said he can stay, Mum, for you. But don’t you ever fucking try this old fanny with me again. The kids are my responsibility now, as you are. You and him made sure of that much between you. I ain’t got nothing on my fucking conscience where you’re concerned. I wish you could say the same about us kids. He means nothing to us, fuck all. We know him too well, Mum, and there ain’t nothing you can say that will make us care for him now. It’s too fucking late.’

  His mother’s white face was not affecting him any more; his anger was overpowering in its intensity. He was sick of her, sick of her turnaround, of her trying to make out her husband was someone he wasn’t. ‘Don’t push me too far, Mother, because you can’t look out for your kids, so I have had to do that for you. You forget all about that part of it, don’t you?’

  Ange was looking at this son of hers, wondering where this anger came from, yet all the time knowing it was to be expected. In her heart of hearts she knew, as always, that she was letting them all down, that her kids knew she was putting her husband over them once more, putting her marriage over their well-being. She knew they were right, but it didn’t change how she felt.

  ‘I’m warning you, Mum, don’t ever make me choose, and don’t ever make me angry like this again. Unlike you, I have what is known as loyalty. Something that you and that ponce who calls himself my father would know nothing about.’

  She nodded sadly. ‘But he can stay?’

  He nodded, his clenched fists apparent and his utter disgust at her actions telling her this was final. There was no more talk left for them. This was the end of it. It was only when she turned away from him that he saw she was pregnant again, and the realisation of her utter betrayal was such that it nearly sent him over the edge.

  Louie knew something was bothering the boy but no amount of careful questioning could make him confide what it might be. He had wondered if it was a girl: he knew the boy was active in that department and he knew the girls liked him, they walked past the yard in their finery, smiling at the boy and, more often than not, getting no response whatsoever. He was a treat-them-mean, keep-them-keen type of lover. At least that was the impression he gave. As Louie watched him talking to a totter, and doing a deal for some scrap copper piping, he knew that whatever ailed him was colouring his whole life. He looked older, as if he had the weight of the world on his young shoulders. And Louie knew that this state of affairs couldn’t go on for much longer. The last few weeks had seen a great change come over the boy and it wasn’t for the good either; that much was apparent to anyone who knew him.

  And he knew Danny Boy better than anyone by now. For all his bravado and his fighting nature, he knew that underneath he was still a kid, a kid who was keeping his whole family from penury, and making sure that his siblings had a better chance at life than he had. And, if the gossip was true, another child was on the way, and the father was masquerading as a cripple so the chance of him ever doing an honest day’s work was about as likely as the Pope giving lessons in contraception. As Louie waved the boy over, he wondered how he was going to ask him what was going on, what his reaction would be to his queries, and whether or not he had any real right to interfere in the boy’s private business.

  Michael was working out how much they were earning from their new businesses; in the last few weeks they had been handed a lot of smaller debts that were seen as far too cheap to be called in with serious violence. Danny Boy was seen as a new up-and-coming young Face and the men who were owed the money knew that any business they passed over to him would also be seen as a gesture of kindness. After all, the boy needed a few quid for his family’s welfare, so it looked as if they were just giving him a heads-up. In reality, people were collecting money they would normally write off until serious damage was called for. That would generally involve the borrower asking for more dosh at some point, and then the rest would be history. All in all, it was an earner for everyone involved.

  And Michael knew that if you looked after the small amounts, the pennies, then the pounds, seemed to multiply at an alarming rate, especially when, like them, the pounds were still important.

  They were the new rude boys, the answer to everyone’s prayers. Danny Boy Cadogan would hammer the fuck out of someone for a score; in everyone’s eyes that made him a winner. He got to keep the poke, and the person owed the money was suddenly unwilling to let the debt ride the usual course.

  It was a win-win situation once again and Michael, like Danny Boy, was all for making the most of it. Exploiting a situation was their mantra, and it seemed to be catching on. They were also being asked to supply puff to a new clientele and that pleased them. They were being talked about, were sought after, they were like the new kids on the block and they were loving every second of it. Every Face in the Smoke was aware of them, liked them, admired them. They were kids, no threat to anyone yet, but useful if a small job came their way. This was what they had talked about, prayed for. Little acorns.

  It was dark, the night air was cold, and the distant sound of a police siren broke the silence. Danny was seriously drunk and the cold night air cut through his lungs every time he took a breath.

  He had left the scrapyard hours before; guessing that Louie was going to give him one of his fatherly talks, he had gone on the trot. As much as he liked the man, there was no way he was going to discuss this situation with him. The shame was too much to bear; it was bad enough that everyone knew his father had more or less dumped them all, leaving them up shit creek without the proverbial paddle.

  As he walked towards Shepherd’s Market he felt the anger building up inside him all over again. He was fifteen and he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. But he would use his father to better himself, make himself look the big man. The generous son. He was, after all, his flesh and blood. Then, when the time was right, he would take great pleasure in aiming him out the front door once and for all.

  Tonight he had had a meet with a Face from Silvertown, Derek Block, and he had agreed to collect a few debts for him in the coming weeks. Then, after they had concluded their bit of business he had gone on the piss big-time. Derek Block had found his drunkenness highly amusing and had actively encouraged it. Danny Boy decided he liked Derek Block more than he had thought possible. Considering the man was a fucking cretin of the first water, he had been pleasantly surprised at how much he had enjoyed getting pissed with him. Now he was once more alone and, though full of alcohol, he still managed to walk a straight line and look relatively sober.

  Danny Boy was dressed smartly as always, a nice dark suit and heavy overcoat making him look older than his years. His mother and her pregnancy, her disgusting betrayal of them all, was at the forefront of his mind as he strolled through Shepherd’s Market.

  It was late, so he eyed up the last few working girls surreptitiously, they were the dregs of their tight-knit society and that caused his anger to boil to the surface once more. He took deep breaths, determined to get his anger and his temper under control. He liked the brasses, they were easy pickings. He knew where he was with them, and he didn’t have to be nice if he didn’t want to. They were nothing more than a commodity to him; they scratched his itch without him having to pretend he liked them. His sexual appetite was enormous and he knew that it was far bigger than all his contemporaries’ put together. Most of them wouldn’t know a shag if it fell out of a tree and hit them on the head. They had to be content with talking about it, all the time making sure their right hands were in perfect working order. But he needed to release his pent-up aggression regularly, and the sex act did that for him.

  The market was nearly empty and he walked on briskly now, wishing he had not left it so late. Then he saw a young girl i
n the shadows; she was obviously new to the pavement, her skin was still clear and her eyes didn’t have the feral glint that came with experience and the overuse of her body for monetary gain.

  She smiled at him sheepishly, and he motioned with his head for her to follow him. He could hear the clacking of her shoes on the pavement as she struggled to keep up with him, and he grinned to himself. He was leading her away from her comfort zone and it was late; she was obviously in dire need of money. She was wearing a short satin skirt, a tie-dyed shirt and an Afghan coat that had seen better days. Her long, slim legs were bare, and the high-heeled shoes she wore only served to hinder her progress. He stopped in a doorway and watched her as she teetered towards him. Her heavily made-up face showed her nervousness, and her clothes made her look ridiculous. He smiled as she sidled up beside him.

  In the dim light he saw she was actually really pretty, no more than seventeen years old, and seriously stacked. Her smile revealed small white teeth, and a trust that was completely wasted on him.

  Danny Boy stared down at her for long moments. She had thick blond hair, wide-spaced blue eyes and a tiny, heart-shaped face. Her creamy skin was still smooth, without the tell-tale lines that street walkers seemed to acquire at an early age. Her garish make-up made her look even younger than she was and her wide smile was genuine. And she was devoid of the usual banter and chat that heralded the request for money in exchange for sexual services. She was a brand-newey all right.

  ‘How much?’

  She shrugged, her slim shoulders making her look even more vulnerable. ‘I don’t know. What do you normally pay?’

  She had a quiet voice, and her breath was evident because of the cold. He didn’t answer her. Instead, he pulled her towards him and, grabbing her, he began to feel her all over. As he squeezed her breasts roughly she closed her eyes tightly, and he forced her legs open with his knee. Pushing her backwards against the shop door, he kissed her. Forcing his tongue into her mouth, he explored it as if she was a real girlfriend. She tasted of Wrigley’s chewing gum and cigarettes. Danny never kissed brasses; this was a one-off for him. As he fingered her she sighed, then he kissed her so violently she couldn’t breathe. She tried to pull away, but he held her there by grabbing a handful of her hair, pulling her head back until she thought her neck would snap. Then, panicking, she realised that he was determined to hurt her. He bit down hard on her bottom lip and she cried out in pain. Danny tasted her blood and it only served to make him more excited. He had released her breasts from her top and he lowered his head and sucked and bit at them until she was crying with the pain and humiliation. Picking her up in his arms he positioned her so he could thrust himself inside her and as he felt the tightness of her, he knew that this was what he had been missing out on: that she was relatively unused so her body was still firm and exciting. The fact she was dry, sore and in agony didn’t enter his mind, he was lost in the feelings she had created in him and, pulling her legs around his waist, he pummelled her until he felt himself coming.